A semi-scary thing happened to me the other night: I discovered I couldn't do something I used to be able to do.  Allow me to explain…

I used to draw a lot and letter a lot.  I never had any delusions or even desires that I might make either my primary line of work…but when writing and editing comic books, for instance, it sometimes came in handy to be able to do a little art touch-up or letter a balloon.  I've drawn, or sometimes laid-out, a number of covers and even a few stories, and I would often design the cover lettering on comics I was editing.  Sometimes, when an artist had fallen behind, I'd ink some backgrounds.  I had enough control of a pen, brush or pencil to be able to do that.  In fact, Tom Orzechowski — who some folks felt was the best letterer in comics when he was doing more of it — once said in an interview that I was a better letterer than half the guys doing it full-time.  Beyond all this, I used to simply enjoy spending an hour or two a week at the drawing board instead of the keyboard.

But I got away from it — or perhaps it got away from me — for several reasons.  One, of course, was the computer.  Back when I was doing comics in the eighties, I designed and lettered the logo for a book I did called Crossfire and it took me about eight hours over three days to get it where I wanted it.  The Crossfire logo we use now is a version I did recently on the computer.  It took about seven minutes.

So there's one good reason I'm not doing as much lettering as I once did.  Another is that I'm not editing a whole line of comics at the moment.  Yet another is this: I've been honored to work with some of the best comic artists of the present-day…folks who are not only much, much better than me but much, much better than most professional artists.  Working with those guys only made me see my work as even less adequate than it already was…and one day, one of them made a rather thoughtless remark that I think helped erect a little mental block on the topic.  He didn't mean it maliciously…probably wouldn't even remember that he said it.

Last evening, I was called upon to do some fancy calligraphy.  It was the first time I'd really lettered something by hand in years and I was appalled at how poor my work was.  Way below whatever my previous standard was.  It's jarring to discover you can't do something as well as you could five or ten years ago.  I wasn't so good five or ten years ago that I could afford to lose any of it…but I have.

I have resolved to practice and to get back whatever I once had.  But I thought it was worth mentioning it here as a kind of cautionary note: Use it or lose it, people.  Computers are great but you might not want to wake up one morn and discover that you've lost some organic, personal skill just because you found a good software program to do the same thing.  This is what killed the dinosaurs, right?

Game shows of the MTV generation usually look for physical player involvement, so I'm surprised no one has thought to revive Video Village, a silly but fun series that ran from 1960 to 1962 on CBS.  Format-wise, it was pretty simple: Two players competed as life-size "pieces" on a studio-sized game board.  Each would bring a friend or relative along to roll the dice for them and, based on that roll, contestants would move one to six spaces along the "street."  Some spaces paid little prizes — merchandise or money — some spaces cost you a turn or took your prizes away.  On the last of the three "streets," the prizes became considerable…and, of course, the object of the game was to reach the finish line before your opponent.

There was also a kid's version of the show briefly on Saturday morning.  As I recall, it was called Video Village Jr. in the TV Guide and it was called Kideo Village on the show itself — or perhaps it was the other way around.  I was ten at the time and bothered more than anyone should have been by this discrepancy.  Years later, when I met its host, Monty Hall, I saw my chance to finally get this age-old riddle answered and off my widdle mind.  I asked him why the show had one name in TV Guide and another on the air.  His reply was, "It did?"  Thank you, Monty Hall.  (In 1964, the same production company — Heatter-Quigley — did another kids' version of Video Village.  This one was called Shenanigans and was hosted by Stubby Kaye.)

Monty Hall was actually the third host of Video Village, following Jack Narz and Red Rowe.  As was the custom in the board game version of TV quiz programs, no real host is depicted on the box cover of the Milton Bradley version above.  I had always assumed that this practice was because the owners of the show didn't want to share the loot with the host, and that may have been the reason in some cases.  But an expert at such things — a collector of board games based on TV shows — once told me that wasn't the main reason.  The main reason was so that the board game could be sold overseas (where game shows were often produced with local hosts) and so that the toy company didn't get stuck with an out-of-date box on already-manufactured items if the show changed hosts.  Changing stars in mid-stream was more common then than it is now…although, at some point, every one of us is going to get to be the host of Family Feud.

Back when I was twelve, I loved to play the home version of Video Village, often with a friend of mine named Alan.  Oddly, Alan didn't want to play against me.  The only way he enjoyed the game was if we found a third person to compete, whereupon Alan could function as Monty Hall.  Though the board game was designed to be played one-on-one with no emcee, Alan loved to preside and to do all the unnecessary game show host patter that Monty did on the air, even asking the announcer (whose voice he'd also do) to tell us what we'd all won.  Unfortunately, when I went over to Alan's house, the only third party available was usually his younger sister who was thoroughly uninterested in his silly games.  I'd say to Alan, "Let's play Stadium Checkers, instead."  But Alan wanted to play Game Show Host, so he'd start bribing Sis the way an older brother can bribe a sibling: "If you'll play two games with us, I promise not to yell at you for a week and to let you ride up front next time Mom takes us to the market."  His sister would counter, "Throw in that you'll take the trash out and tell Mom that you were the one who broke her vase."  It all foreshadowed Monty's subsequent TV program, Let's Make A Deal, except that it was more mature since no one had to dress up like a giant hubbard squash.

It also never worked.  Once we got into the game, Alan, being the gracious host, would ask her, "So, where are you from and what do you for a living?"  He'd expect her to say, "Well, Alan, I'm a stenographer from Lansing, Michigan and I have three wonderful children," but she'd say. "I'm from the same place as you, doo-doo head, and I'm ten years old.  I don't have a job."  He'd scream at her for not playing along and she'd scream at him for using her toys in the swimming pool and that would be the end of today's episode of Video Village.  Come to think of it…though we didn't know it at the time, we were actually playing the home version of The Jerry Springer Show.  You know, I bet that would sell.

Mark is backed up on deadlines again so this site may not have many updates the next few days.  As usual, we promise to make it up to you when we can.  And a special thanks to all of you who've lately used the "tip" function and sent us cash.  (I'm even behind on writing my thank-you e-mails for them…)

Spent a lovely evening at a special seminar at the Museum of TV and Radio in Beverly Hills — a show about the early and late days of Monty Python, with Eric Idle present to intro and answer questions.  They ran an episode of Do Not Adjust Your Set, a show he did, pre-Python, with Terry Jones and Michael Palin.  He described it as a "kids' show," as perhaps it was based on its time slot.  But the sketches therein — and in other episodes I've seen — would not have been outta place as prime-time Python.  This was followed by a documentary about the guys' later work, shot on the set of Life of Brian.

In the pre-screening Q-and-A, Mr. Idle was charming and very funny, even in the face of one or two geeky questions.  (One lady asked, "Would you sing for us?")  He said that his sequel to the Rutles — All You Need is Lunch, which I saw at a previous screening in the same room — will air soon, as will a program made up of concert footage from his touring show, Eric Idle Exploits Monty Python.  He politely dodged questions about The Men of Python ever reuniting for anything but gave the impression that he isn't expecting it to happen.

He opened his little talk by quoting a line of George Harrison's — "If we knew at the time we were going to be The Beatles, we would have tried harder" — and said (approximately), "At the time, we all just thought of Python as just our next show and we had no idea it would become what it's become."  Later, he said that he thought it was a fortunate thing that all 45 episodes of the TV show were completed before the series reached America and their fame exploded.  Success, he said, changes a show…as witness what happened to Saturday Night Live once (another approximate quote:) "everyone in the cast became Chevy Chase."

He's an enormously witty, bright man.  The only thing that could have made the evening better would have been if they'd chucked the films, good as they were, and had Eric Idle talk about an hour longer.

Beginning this coming Friday night/Saturday morn, TV Land is running episodes of The Monkees, Fernwood 2Night and Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman on the weekends.  I never quite warmed to the ongoing tale of Ms. Hartman but most episodes of The Monkees are still funny and Fernwood is a scream.

I don't have anything particularly interesting to say about any of them.  Just wanted to make sure you didn't miss them.

Dear Friends of Mine —

Thank you but I have now received quite enough copies of the w.32.Klez.H virus.  You all seem to have it and, while I appreciate your generosity and eagerness to share it with me, I must respectfully decline.  I have not even been receiving your swell, unsolicited and perhaps unintentional gifts.  Fifty-some times in the last few weeks, the Norton AntiVirus program that I have installed on my computer has alerted me that an e-mail has been sent to me containing said virus.  Each time, it has prevented it from getting through, God bless it.

I don't wish to point fingers or assign blame but it seems to me that simple consideration for others on this World Wide Web would suggest that you should have such a program installed.  Nothing personal but I think it is bonehead stupid not to have a good anti-virus scanner on your computer, just for your own sake.  Add in the likelihood that you will probably someday not only get a virus but spread it to others and we have a situation where you can be both foolishly self-destructive and inconsiderate to others at the same time.

Even with proper protection, you might contract and spread a computer virus.  There are no Zero Defect defenses, and many worms and trojans, like the w.32.Klez.H will use your computer to spread themselves to others without your knowledge.  That one searches your computer for e-mail addresses and sends a random file from your hard disk to any addresses it finds, accompanied by a disguised version of the virus.  Without you even lifting a finger, your friends may receive e-mail from you and open it and contract the virus.  (Some of these noxious booby-traps even spoof the "From" address so the virus may not have come from the person the e-mail seems to be from.)

So it is impossible to be 100% safe.  Nevertheless, we could cut way, way down on these if everyone would at least make the effort and install anti-virus software.  You can download a trial copy of Norton AntiVirus by clicking here.  And if you have that nasty old w.32.Klez.H virus, you can rid yourself of it by downloading this program.  If you won't do it for others, at least do it for yourself.  Better still, do it for me.  I'm sick of getting pipebombs in my e-mailbox.

Thanks…
me

P.S. Representative Cynthia McKinney just announced that the Bush Administration had advance knowledge of the w.32.Klez.H virus.  And Vice-President Dick Cheney just accused the Democratic party of playing politics with the accusation instead of doing something patriotic like passing large tax cuts for Texas-based energy producers.

It was not so long ago that Republicans were throwing fits: No matter how much sexual dirt they released about Bill Clinton, they couldn't seem to put a meaningful dent in his approval ratings.  Lately, Democrats seem baffled that revelations about pre-9/11 bungling aren't causing George W. Bush's numbers to drop.  I think the two situations are even more similar than that…

The American people saw the move against Clinton — as they are seeing the criticisms of Bush — for Politics As Usual…or perhaps Politics As Usual, ratcheted up to a bloodthirsty level.  Then, as now, there is/was no national doubt that the folks defending or assailing would instantly swap rhetoric if the other party was in the firing line.  Moreover, there's this: In politics, you don't get done in by your enemies attacking but by your allies deserting.  Nixon did not call it quits because Democrats were assaulting his integrity but because key Republicans were tip-toeing off the reservation.  Clinton had a few Democrats lobbing mudballs his way but there was never any real jeopardy that they would vote to remove him from office.  If a few had so indicated, it might have started a save-your-ass stampede…but when Senator Robert Byrd introduced his motion to dismiss the impeachment trial, Clinton was home-free.

Byrd was the elder statesman Democrat most likely to break ranks and, since he didn't, no one did.  These days, Republicans seem pretty solidly behind Bush, at least in public, at least as long as he has the power that comes with that kind of seeming voter support.  A few are asking hard questions — more about the FBI than the White House — but Bush is in the same reflexive, safe position: His poll numbers are high because it's only the opposition party attacking him.  And it will only be the opposition party attacking him because his poll numbers are high.

Will this last?  I dunno.  I think we're going to hear a lot more about Bush not responding to advance warnings, about his Enron connections, about other past business arrangements that paralleled the Enron debacle.  I think we're going to hear an awful lot more about Dick Cheney making millions off dealing with nations that now reside on the Axis of Evil.  And, of course, we haven't heard the last of Florida.  I doubt the president's rep will get too tarnished until we get closer to the moment when some Democrat challenger — or perhaps John McCain as an independent — starts looking like a viable, preferable alternative.  That's assuming anyone ever ascends to that position and, yes, I know it may seem pretty unlikely, these days.

But when Democrats are out there bashing Bush, as they have been lately…I don't think that means much.  It may make Talk Radio and the cable news channels more interesting…may shake loose some campaign donations to Democrats…may even give some vicarious satisfaction to the 15-20% of Americans who think we have weasels in the White House.  But I don't think it means much.  The American people never gave much weight to Democratic criticism of Republicans or vice-versa but nowadays, I think it's really meaningless.  After the whole Clinton-Lewinsky thing, we now presume that if the guy in office so much as hiccups, the opposition party will be out there screaming it's proof that he's immoral and incompetent.  Democrats may be able to hassle Bush, investigate him, embarrass him and stall his agenda…but they cannot bring his poll numbers down.  Only Republicans can do that.

The Oxygen Network is running the old half-hours of Love, American Style from the late sixties/early seventies and I'd forgotten what an amazing mixed bag that series was.  Many episodes are unwatchable but some are quite fun, either for the guest stars or the funky 1970 sensibilities and fashions.  They ran one the other day where a wonderful character actor named Eddie Mayehoff took a dreadful script and just made it soar.  (If you don't recall his name, he's the guy who played Jack Lemmon's lawyer in How to Murder Your Wife.)

And there was a haunted house episode wherein Vincent Price sure raised the level of the proceedings, and another where Shecky Greene and Cass Elliott played a very funny couple.  Against this, you had an awful lot of episodes that now look like they were cast out of the commissary staff — "stars" who I don't believe were even known entities then, let alone now.  Others suffer from two different strains of "pilot" error.  They're either failed pilots that were played off as episodes of Love, American Style…or "backdoor" pilots, meaning that the producers were trying — usually, too hard — to whip up something with spin-off potential.  (Happy Days evolved out of an unsold pilot that was folded into the series but that was a singular exception.)

Most episodes aren't that wonderful as entertainment but there's a certain charm to the period and a fascination in seeing some of the great character actors at work.  As I write this, I'm watching one with Louis Nye, Eve Arden, Robert Q. Lewis, Michelle Lee and Joanne Worley…struggling and occasionally succeeding in the deathless sport of triumphing over one's material.  Tomorrow, I believe they're going to run one with a very young Albert Brooks playing — you'll never guess this — a cold, self-absorbed Yuppie-type.  I've set the TiVo to record every episode but I often bail out about three minutes in if there's no sign of treasure.

Dozens of folks have sent me copies of or links to obits for Dave Berg.  It took a week but he made all the major newspapers and services.  Now, let's see if anyone in the comic industry press will do anything.

This is scary: Collectors of old comic books have always been antsy about the condition of their collectibles — so much so that, years ago, it was a not uncommon joke in fanzines to write about folks who were afraid to ever take a comic out of its plastic bag in order to actually read it.  Lately, Reality, as it tends to do, has caught up with Satire.  A group called the CGC (which somehow stands for Comics Guaranty, LLC) is in the business of grading comics, assigning them point values for their condition and then sealing each into what is called a "slab" — a hard plastic shell that prevents the comic from being touched or, God forbid, opened.  This is to ensure that the assigned grade is maintained and that the book suffers no degradation…but, of course, since a buyer cannot examine it, the grade on the little label is all they have to go on.  If they open the slab to see if the Near Mint comic is really Near Mint, it's no longer officially Near Mint by CGC standards.  Those who care most about condition are now operating wholly on faith.

I don't entirely understand the CGC scale.  A "10" means the item is in mint condition and a "9.9" also indicates mint condition.  Back when I cared more about the collecting world than I do now, it was commonly held that mint was mint, period.  An oft-quoted saying was that if you had two allegedly-mint copies of the same comic and you could tell the difference between them, at least one of them was not mint.  Now, apparently, there's mint and then there's mint.  There's also Near Mint/Mint (9.8), Near Mint+ (9.6), Near Mint (9.4), Near Mint- (9.2), Very Fine/Near Mint (9.0) and so on.  A numeric value of ".5" indicates Poor condition, which is a relief.  I was expecting it to denote "Lower End Mint."

In any case, the silliness of it all is evident in the above picture.  The whole thing probably makes some sort of sense with regard to very rare Golden Age comics.  I mean, if I had a perfect condition copy of Batman #1, I don't think I'd be reading it or letting others do so.  But folks are grading/slabbing pretty recent, easily available books.  Someone recently offered on eBay a copy of Groo #1, as published by Image and now sporting a 9.9 CGC grade, which I guess means it's mint but not really mint.  They put an opening bid of $89.95 on it with a "Buy It Now" price tag of #149.95, but there were no takers at either price.  This is a comic that usually sells for around ten bucks in non-graded excellent condition and, if anyone cares, I have in storage an unopened crate of 500 copies, straight from the printer and I think Sergio has more than that.  Vastly more recent — and less in-demand — comics have also been graded, slabbed and offered at ten times their usual going price.

Curiously, the Groo offer also stated that — and I quote: "A hand signed certificate of origin with your name will indicate that you are the first owner of this comic."  Leaving aside the value of a certificate signed by someone you never heard of, how could you be the first owner of a comic published in 1994?  Who has owned it since then?  Does the guy selling it not own it?  No, because elsewhere in the offering, he states: "This comic was purchased at the time it was published directly from the distributor and placed in storage until now.  Comics were never on display at any convention or store shelf and are guaranteed to be unhandled by prospective customers."  So the mint copy that's not totally mint was purchased but has never been owned.  Got that?

We seem to be dwelling on the subject of Death here at POVonline.  A recent entry in this category is Joe Cobb, who's being identified in newspaper obits as "the fat kid" in the silent "Our Gang" comedies.  That's a bit confusing because, first of all, Cobb did appear in the first few "Our Gang" talkies before Management decided he'd grown too old and replaced him with "Chubby" Chaney. Secondly, most folks will miss the distinction of the deceased having appeared in silents and will confuse him with "Spanky" MacFarland, whose career was wholly in sound films.

In any case — and boy, I'm getting morbid here and I don't mean to — Cobb was 85 when he passed away last week.  We need to face the reality that we are very close to the day when every single human being who worked in silent films, on either side of the camera, will be gone.  The last time Leonard Maltin and I were together, we got onto the topic and between us, we could only name about a dozen, all well into their eighties or nineties, all former child stars who remember very little of those days.

Lately, as a couple of veteran creators have passed in the fields of animation and comic books, I find myself among younger folks who are muttering, "Boy, they're all dying on us."  To some extent, that's true.  The men who worked in the so-called Golden Ages of theatrical animation and comic books are all in their eighties and nineties though, happily, there are a lot more of them around than we might think.  This is not the case with silent films, a field which had its Golden (and only) Age twenty-some years earlier.  Joe Cobb was twelve when the first talkies were made and an era ended.

There will probably be no notice when the last silent film performer leaves us and, in truth, not that much will change.  Still, I can't help but get a little whiplash at the passage of time and the missed opportunities.  When I was around twenty, I went out to the Motion Picture Country Home a few times to see Larry Fine of the Three Stooges.  Larry was not a silent film star but he was surrounded by them there.  He introduced me to Babe London, whose obits later identified her as "the fat girl" in Buster Keaton and Laurel & Hardy comedies.  She, in turn, introduced me to at least a dozen silent film veterans — this was around 1972 — and I now wish I'd spent more time with those folks and taken some notes.  I don't even recall the names of some of them.  Later, I went up to the home of the great producer, Hal Roach, and spent an afternoon chatting with him about "Our Gang," Laurel, Hardy and (especially) Charley Chase.  Mr. Roach enjoyed the chat and invited me to come back anytime but I guess I figured he'd always be there.  I never got around to going back.

There's no real point to all this, other than that we have to keep reminding ourselves not to take people for granted.  There are plenty of great animators and comic book creators around who can tell us about working for Disney in the thirties, DC Comics in the forties, EC in the fifties, etc.  We need to respect them, honor them, interview them.  We need to remember that future generations will not have that opportunity and — eventually — we won't, either.  Let's make use of these people (in a nice way) before they're extinct.  And next time I post here, it'll be about someone who's alive.  Promise.

Here is the press release that came out today on the death of Dave Berg…

MAD'S "LIGHTER SIDE OF…" ARTIST DAVE BERG (1920-2002)

David Berg, one of MAD Magazine's best-loved and well-known cartoonists, passed away on May 16 at the age 81 at his home in Marina del Rey, California.

Born in Brooklyn and the son of a bookbinder, Berg is best known for his strip "The Lighter Side of…" which first appeared in Mad Magazine in October 1961 and went on to appear in 365 subsequent issues of MAD.  Berg's first article for MAD was "Modern Furniture," which ran in issue #34 in August 1957.  Berg is the author of 17 books — fifteen for MAD Magazine and two theological books.

"To overstate Dave's importance in MAD would be virtually impossible," said MAD co-editor John Ficarra.  "For many readers, Dave's 'The Lighter Side of…' served as an introduction to the magazine.  His unique comic observations on Americana really hit their mark."

"To this day "The Lighter Side of…" remains one of the most popular features in the magazine," added co-editor Nick Meglin, "a true cultural touchstone.  Dave will be sorely missed."

At the age of 10, Berg's artistic talent was noticed by his teacher, who suggested that Berg attend art school. At 12 years old, Berg received a scholarship from the Pratt Institute to attend a Saturday morning art class.  After high school, Berg attended the Cooper Union and at 20, Berg went to work at the studio of Will Eisner.

Berg began his career in comics by filling in the backgrounds of Eisner's "The Spirit."  He then moved onto writing and drawing the "Death Patrol" and "Uncle Sam."  It was at Eisner's studio that Berg met fellow cartoonists Al Jaffee and Jules Feiffer.  Jaffee introduced Berg to a circle of peers that included Harvey Kurtzman and Will Elder.  He would later share a studio with Kurtzman, who would suggest that Berg work for MAD.

After two stints under Stan Lee at Timely Comics and a stint at Archie Comics, Berg successfully submitted a script to Editor Al Feldstein for MAD Magazine, which was illustrated by Bob Clarke.  Berg submitted a second script, "Modern Furniture," and, upon submission, Feldstein suggested that Berg draw it and include himself in the art.  Berg did, portraying himself under the name "Roger Kaputnik," which his mother called him during his childhood.  Kaputnik, along with the faces of Berg's friends and family, have consistently appeared in virtually all of Berg's "The Lighter Side of…" strips.

Berg served in the Pacific in World War Two as a soldier in the Air Corps.  He was awarded the "Chair for the Great Cartoonist" from the University of California at Los Angeles.  He is survived by his wife, Vivian, and his son and a daughter.

Okay, those of you who are with me in this: Let's see how many news sources — those that specialize in the comic industry and those that don't — do any more than paraphrase this press release and perhaps toss in a little of what I posted here a week ago.  I'm sure The Comics Journal will actually go out and interview a few folks, speak to those who know Dave's history, get a few quotes about him from co-workers, etc.  Let's see if anyone else does.

Unless you tell it not to, a TiVo digital video recorder will record TV shows that it thinks you may want to watch.  It does this on its own but the picks are ostensibly based on your tastes.  You can mark certain shows "thumbs up" or "thumbs down," depending on whether you like or dislike them.  TiVo continually builds a database of these votes, factors in your past recording picks and then figures out a list of shows you might like and records them when there's empty space.  Or, at least, that's the way they say it's supposed to work.

I'm starting to think one of the TiVo programmers has a thing for Raymond Burr.  I can't recall requesting or thumbing-up a single cop show, Raymond Burr appearance or even anything about a guy in a wheelchair but TiVo won't let an episode of Ironside go unrecorded.  It also really loves Lucy, grabbing every possible installment of I Love Lucy, which can mean six a day with all the cable channels I receive, and just as many episodes of M*A*S*H…though never the ones with McLean Stevenson.  It also thinks I'm dying to watch any show featuring actual footage of high-speed police chases.  (I don't.  I can just look out my window…)

But it gets some things right.  It's been recording a lot of biography-type shows for me, including pert near anything on The Biography Channel.  The other day, it picked up an episode of Box Office Bio, detailing the life of Peter Falk.  Watching it, I just heard this line of narration…

Peter became the highest-paid television actor in the business, earning as much as $500,000 an episode — a huge sum in the 1970's.

Ah, remember those ancient, pre-inflationary days when a measly half a million dollars was considered "a huge sum?"  These days, everyone makes that kind of money.

Today marks one week since MAD's Dave Berg passed away.  I have yet to see news of this in one single mainstream news source.  And the few places it's been reported on the Internet all seem to be derived from (or linked to) this site.

The above is not intended as bragging about a "scoop."  I could scarcely care less about that.  But I do care mightily about the fact that the so-called news sources that cover things like the weekend grosses of the Spider-Man movie and which pass on any press release a comic book company issues have such a lackadaisical attitude about stories like the death of an important cartoonist.

In 1968, Marvel experimented briefly with publishing Spider-Man in magazine format.  The above panel — drawn by John Romita, Sr. and Jim Mooney — appeared in The Spectacular Spider-Man #2 with a cover date of November, 1968.  At the time, I was 16 years old and the president of the Los Angeles Comic Book Club.  I was also flexing my limited artistic muscles…which are pretty limited but which include a grand ability to forge.  I'm not good at originating drawings but I can sometimes replicate them — or could, back when I was in practice.  I once forged a Jack Kirby sketch so precisely that it took Jack a minute or two to decide for sure that he hadn't done it.

Anyway, being a sixteen-year-old boy, I did a lot of silly, horny things, one of which was to re-create panels from comic books but relieving the female characters of their wardrobe.  (Once upon a time, I would have been embarrassed to admit this.  I have since learned that about half the guys my age who could draw at all — including most who later became professional comic artists — did this.)  I did a few of these of Wonder Woman, Supergirl and others, and the guys at our comic book club were more excited than if I'd suddenly demonstrated the skills of Rembrandt.  They began picking out cover and panels, asking me to reproduce them, disrobing the women in the process.  A few even offered money.  My greatest subject was the above panel, expertly duplicated but with Gwen and Mary Jane naked.  Because of the poses — which hide the ladies' crotch areas — and the dialogue, several of our club members were certain that Smilin' Stan and Jazzy Johnny had similar thoughts in mind.  Many of my friends demanded copies and I think I must have whipped up at least a dozen of this one.

At last year's Comic-Con International, when I interviewed Mr. Romita, I showed the panel and told the story.  He had a grand chuckle over it but swore the notion had never occurred to him.

No, I'm not going to post the undraped version.  I'm not sure I even have a copy of it anywhere.  But imagine the ladies naked and re-read the text.  (The Spectacular Spider-Man was a sales flop in magazine format.  If they'd done it my way, they'd have sold a million…)